The Promise
by Paper Castles
Summary: Snow White encounters the huntsman in the woods. His dagger is raised, but his heart is heavy. What secret does he carry? [OneShot]


**The Promise**

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><p>The woods darkened as Snow White ran, embracing her within their shadows. The branches above her clawed as the twigs beneath her snapped, her pounding feet tearing a path throughout the trees. She felt them bend, arcing above her as they reached, their sharpened nails grasping at her dress. It tore, its shreds hanging loosely in the bushes she left behind.<p>

She ran on, brambles scratching at her arms. The trees ran with her, their gnarled hands descending as the creaking of their boughs spurred her fearful heart. Her legs burned, weary with exertion. Still, she pushed forward.

_Faster._

Her leg buckled, her foot hooking beneath the root of a tree. She swayed then fell. The earth touched her cheek, the grass coarse beneath her head. She gasped, the air knocked from her lungs. The trees enclosed her, their trunks encircling her form. They pulled her deeper, down and into the darkness, to a place only her pulse remained. She shuddered, and pulled the cloak over her head, giving herself over to exhaustion. Then she waited, silent and shivering, for the footsteps she knew would come.

His boots stamped heavily upon the ground, his approach marked by the crush of leaves. He paused before her, then knelt, tearing the cloak from her head.

"Rise," he growled, his blue eyes piercing her own.

A sound flew from her throat, a sound she could not name. For her limbs ached with fatigue, and she knew she could not rise.

His hands closed around her collar, pulling her upwards. There she stood, suspended in his grasp. She might have been a puppet, or perhaps a doll, and he the master intent to punish her. He dwarfed her, the breadth of his shoulders looming wide above her. Beneath the leather of his vest, his skin was brown, darkened and burnished with sun. With one hand he held her, his muscled arm tense, its surface marred with scars. He had killed before.

The sound came again, falling softly from her lips, and she realized its meaning.

A whimper.

His eyes narrowed as his chest rose and fell, his breath coming heavy and loud. He was angry, and the black within his pupils blazed. He leaned forward, his long hair falling with him. His lips had thinned, his expression grown darker.

"Do not run from me again," he commanded, his deep voice resonating within the silence.

"Yes," she whispered, aware his grip on her collar had loosened. He paused, as though to judge her sincerity, then released her fully. She stood still, her heart hammering within her. She watched him reach for his dagger, his palm closing over the hilt. He pulled it swiftly from his belt, his jaw tight with intent.

"Please," she begged, shaking.

His handsome face hardened, his brows drawing sharply together.

"She desires your heart," he answered, his tone devoid of remorse.

"Let me run," she continued pleadingly, "let me run as far the woods take me. I will never return."

"She must consume it," he continued, his dagger rising.

"Please, I beg you!" she cried, falling to her knees. "I will never show my face again, only let me live!"

"I cannot," he said quietly, his blue eyes cold.

She felt his large body tense above her, a coil ready to spring. Without warning, the fear left her and the heart within her stilled. She closed her eyes, readying herself. She felt the motion of his arm as it crashed towards her, the pressure with which he gripped the knife. Yet there was no pain. Her eyes flew open. He had to sunk to his knees before her, the dagger hovering above her heart. His hand shook, his knuckles white with exertion. He pressed the blade to the cloth of her bodice, and pressed. She felt it pierce the fabric, its point grazing her skin. She quivered.

A roar tore suddenly from his throat, and he heaved the dagger away, its glinting blade vanishing into the darkness. He stared at the ground, his breathing heavy. Then he rose, pacing stiffly before her. She stood, slowly, her weary limbs still shaking. He approached her abruptly, and reached out his hand, catching a lock of ebony hair between his fingers. He stroked its softness gently, allowing his hand to brush it behind her shoulder. He paused there, his fingers grazing her cheek.

She waited, unmoving, her dark eyes wide. His hand slid further, his thumb slowly tracing the fullness of her lips.

"Forgive me," he whispered, his voice catching. She stared back at him, her face upturned. Her innocence unnerved him, sent him reeling toward the memory of her birth. He had been a child, but the image was strong, seared into the surface of his mind. Her mother, slender and gracious, then her father, trusted and esteemed. They had entered the courtyard, the nursemaid between them, surrounded by the hush of the assembled crowd. Her mother had taken her, cradling her as one might a jewel, the love within her shining.

_Skin as white as snow_

_Lips as red as blood_

_Hair as black as ebony_

The infant's beauty had awed them, even then. It had only grown with time, intensifying with every year that slipped away. He could see her now, a child of four, tears streaming as she wept above her mothers grave. Later, at seven, forced to witness the marriage of her father. Another year, and she was eight, bent above her father's grave, her step-mother a looming figure in the distance. And still, her beauty grew. Her grief seemed to spur it, illuminating her countenance even as it saddened her heart. He had watched her willingly, entranced with her aura and the light she appeared to emanate even in the midst of pain.

Then, on her tenth birthday, her step-mother had summoned him. He recalled her haggard face and the gauntness of her cheekbones, outdone only by the jealousy which blazed within her eyes.

_You once served a master, but now you will serve me. You will no longer guard the manor. You will guard the child._

Unable to refuse, he had sworn her his oath, and then his loyalty. He would guard Snow White. He would watch her, and then report on her activities, her location, and any word that left her lips. She was not to leave his sight.

_You will be her shadow, and you will tell me everything. _

_She must never know what I have asked._

He had kept his promise, following Snow White's growth from childhood to girlhood as he himself progressed from boy to man. He had befriended her, waiting for the hateful words and wicked actions her step-mother had warned him would come. He was to report them the minute they arrived. Yet the longer he waited, the more he realized the step-mother's intent. She was searching for evil where there was none. This pale, dark-haired child, who fed the doves and sang to her dolls-she possessed no darkness. She embodied joy in its simplest form. Her heart was pure.

And each week, when he returned to the step-mothers quarters, the older woman seethed. For he had nothing bad to say. The child was good.

But it was not enough. The step-mother craved the girl's downfall, lusting for the moment she might punish her as she deserved. She sent him out with the instruction to dispose of the enemies who threatened her or her land, all the while plotting for Snow White's demise. For if the girl could not be punished, then others would be. He fulfilled her orders, inflicting the pain she relished on the ones she commanded. The torture was needless, for it was only the girl she desired to kill. Yet she enforced it, driving him to harm the lives of innocents in her need to be satiated.

Then, suddenly and without warning, her reason arrived. The girl blossomed and became a woman. Her beauty was transformed, achieving its pinnacle at last. Where before she had amazed, now she dazzled, and he found he could not look away. His humanity had been stolen, but now, as the days passed on, he found it slowly return. His hardened heart softened, and his past life became a source of shame. Innocent of his activities, Snow White enclosed him in her light, pushing the darkness away. The girl had altered him.

But her step-mother raged, consumed with a fearsome hatred. Snow White's beauty was reason for punishment, for it was the most heinous crime of them all. She summoned him again, but this time, his task was not to watch nor report. He was to kill her, and return with the heart. He was to pierce her with his dagger, and carve it from her chest. Were he to fail, she would have his head.

Thus, he had found the girl and concealed his grief. He had brandished his dagger and allowed her to run. Then he had caught up with her and feigned his anger, unable to reveal his sympathy. Now he had meant to kill her, hopeful his own selfish desire to live would allow him to overcome his task. Yet there he stood, her slight frame shivering before him, and the truth could no longer be denied. He would sooner have pierced his own heart than harm hers. He would not do it.

She reached out her hand, and grasped his own."Please," she whispered. "Will you help me?" Her voice was hopeful.

His heart stirred, and he could bear it no longer. He slipped his hand beneath her hair, cradling her cheek. Then he pulled her gently toward him, kissing her with the frustration of a man in chains. She stiffened, then loosened, unexpectedly leaning into his embrace. He pressed her to him, unwilling to release her. But every moment they waited, her danger increased. He forced his arms to slacken, pulling himself regretfully away.

Her cheeks were red, her full lips parted. She stared at him, a mixture of shock and awe written upon her face.

"Now you must go," he said, brushing a black tendril behind her ear.

"Go?" She repeated, startled.

"As far as you can," he continued. "I will kill a boar, and give your step-mother its heart."

"And...if she should discover it...?"

"Let that be my concern," he answered softly, well aware of the fate which awaited him.

She paused, seemingly torn.

"Run." He urged. "Run!"

She stumbled away from him, her eyes wide. Then she ran. She ran till her legs ached, and her feet begged for rest. Then she paused, a strange sadness engulfing her as she turned, facing the way she'd come.

A distant figure gazed back, a huntsman among the trees.


End file.
